


Turnbull and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad... Maybe Not So Bad Day

by SLWalker



Series: Arch to the Sky [72]
Category: due South
Genre: Arch to the Sky, Chicago (1998), First Person, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2011-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>August 1998: Francesca turns up the heat on Turnbull.  No.  I can't believe I titled it that, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnbull and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad... Maybe Not So Bad Day

It may be my imagination, but I'm beginning to believe that Francesca Vecchio is _everywhere_.

Naturally, I'm prepared for the fact that I would encounter her at the 2-7, simply because that's her place of employment. It's when I begin encountering her everywhere else that it becomes somewhat... somewhat more _unnerving_.

Case in point: On my way to work in the morning.

 _"Hey, handsome, can I give you a ride?"_

 _"...Miss Vecchio?"_

 _"Well, I figured that since I had to be up early for an appointment with my doc, I'd get up a little earlier, maybe take you to breakfast, talk about things..."_

 _"..."_

 _"So, can I give you a ride?"_

 _"I'm-- I'm afraid not; you see, I-- that is, I maintain a fairly careful time-table, and even if I were to accept a ride, I wouldn't have time for breakfast--"_

 _"Oh, okay."_

She drove alongside of me at a snail's crawl, planning a dinner for us that I had no intentions of attending, occasionally pulling over to yell at angry drivers who were behind her out the driver's side window. I kept my head down, my pace up and tried not to break into a run. Finally, mercifully, I was able to escape into the consulate.

It's a strange day indeed when I prefer the Inspector's company over my morning walk to work.

This wasn't the last I saw of her, however. Sometime before lunch, she appeared again, breezing into the consulate. "Turnbull, you here?"

 _No,_ I immediately thought, and gave sincere consideration to hiding under my desk; trapped between acting like an adult and hiding like a child, she unfortunately came around the door frame just as I had decided to channel my inner six-year-old.

"There you are!"

"Ah... yes, Miss Vecchio," I said, straightening up and wincing inwardly. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I thought I might wait around until lunch," she said, sitting on my desk.

You see, it wasn't that I didn't find Francesca _attractive_ ; I did. She has beautiful eyes; large, expressive, dark. Her smile, as well, is one that can light a room -- something she shares with Ray. But I had no real interest in being someone's consolation then, and I still don't. If I had attempted to pursue her after it was quite clear that she had very little interest in me, I would have been her consolation for Fraser. I don't know why, now, I've become 'eligible', but I do know that it's simply not going to happen.

In large part because of her brother, but also simply because I do have some measure of _pride_.

"Ah--" I tried to think of some way out of this without potentially hurting her feelings -- something I simply don't want to do -- but nothing immediately came to mind. "--well, that's no less than two hours away, and I believe your brother--"

"Hey, finders keepers," she said, grinning back at me.

It was a beautiful look on her, and I dreaded the next two hours. "Miss Vecchio--"

"Francesca."

"--I simply-- that is, I have to take calls--"

"Oh, I'll be quiet when the phone rings," she said, and her smile brightened even further. Lord, but what I wouldn't give to hand this woman a perfect, wonderful man that _isn't me_.

I rubbed at my forehead, taking the most calming breath that I could. "Miss Vecchio--"

"My brother calls you 'Ren', you mind if I...?"

"I do, yes," I said, and then her smile fell and I felt... far more guilty than I wanted to. "I-- that is, I don't really care for-- I do prefer Renfield," I hastily added, and it was the truth. I just didn't add that I liked it when Ray (and _only_ Ray) called me 'Ren' or 'Renny'. Or 'good-lookin'. Or, once or twice, 'honey,' which came as quite a pleasant surprise; one would think it would sound silly or demeaning, but I just find it to be very warming, rather sweet...

"Guess my brother never bothered to ask," she said, smirking. "Okay, Renfield. And you can call me Francesca or Frannie?"

I wanted, at this point, to beat my head off of my desk.

Thankfully, the end times came with a fine coating of ice upon the hellfires of the underworld and Inspector Thatcher came to my rescue. "Turnbull, I need you to run over to the French Consulate to drop off some files."

 _Oh, thank God,_ I thought, and gave Francesca the best possible apologetic smile I could, before grabbing my stetson and pressing it to my chest. "If you'll excuse me, duty calls."

I didn't wait around to hear her response, following the Inspector to her office. "Files, ma'am?"

"Let me create some," she said, stiffly and coolly.

I tried so very hard not to smile. Of course, she didn't return it, but even that wasn't enough to make me quit.

Luckily, the actual assignment -- pick the Inspector up some brunch -- took me away until my lunch hour, wherein I did channel my six-year-old self and hide under my desk when Francesca came back.

"Don't bother, he's not here," she said to her brother; her voice tended to carry.

 _I am for him!_ I managed to clamp my mouth around that, carefully trying to unfurl myself from the painfully small space I had been hiding in for the past half-hour and rubbing frantically at cramp in my calf. I was entirely willing to look the fool in front of Francesca in order to see Ray.

"Okay, I'll hang around until he gets back," Ray said, likewise loud enough to hear. "Scram, Frannie, he's probably hiding around the back of the building waiting for you to go."

Antagonistic siblings. Still, there is no denying their mutual affection. It's a well-ordered dance between them. Francesca made an annoyed, high-pitched noise, Ray went 'ow!' likely as her handbag hit his arm, and then she was gone.

By then, I could stand again, though my leg hurt quite a bit. I may have been channeling my six-year-old self hiding under the desk, but I am most certainly not of a _size_ that can comfortably handle such things twenty years later. "Ray?"

I could almost hear his confusion, and then he looked around the door, eyebrows up. "...where'd you come from?"

I knew I was blushing as I gestured, not quite able to meet his gaze. "Well... you see, I had been..."

"In the closet?"

That would have likely been less painful; I made a mental note. "No, Ray."

"Behind a filing cabinet?"

"No, Ray."

Ray frowned, thoughtfully, and then eyed my desk. And then he looked at me again. "You're kidding. How'd you fit under there?!"

"Painfully?" I don't know why I made it into a question, but I had to smile anyway at the look of baffled amusement on his face. I gestured to my leg. "Apparently, I can no longer consider myself a master of hide-and-seek."

"Nah. Now yoga, on the other hand..."

As I still had a half-hour left for lunch, and as Ray Vecchio could be quite persuasive, I somehow ended up with my boot off, my leg in his lap, and those _hands_ of his massaging it. It was decidedly an undignified picture we made, sitting on the floor of my office, but despite some measure of embarrassment, it did feel very good...

All the way up until the ice melted when Inspector Thatcher stood in the doorway, made a disgusted noise, then turned and walked back to her own office.

It took quite a lot longer than a half-hour for my blush to fade.

I entirely expected to have terminal awkwardness added to that embarrassment, but Francesca didn't come back. I literally kept checking the clock. I sincerely was waiting to hear the door, hear her voice, have to come up with some way of potentially conversing with her. I couldn't fathom what I would say. _Well, Francesca, I do find you to be a beautiful, vivacious woman, but you see, back when I very much wanted to date you more than twice, you found every reason to avoid it that you possibly could, and I simply couldn't make myself play the shadow to Benton Fraser in love as well as my work... and this is not taking into account, of course, that while I don't exclude anyone on the basis of gender, I do prefer men..._

But the clock struck five, and all was peaceful. I still had to endure the look on the Inspector's face, but as the day wore on, it became less disapproving. I locked the door of my office, changed out of my uniform in anticipation of an evening spent in Ray's company, and then I stepped out...

...and she was _there_.

 _Again._

"So, can I give you a ride home?" she asked, and smiled.

I thought about pretending that I had an urgent errand to run. I thought about diving into the bushes... all right, that was a silly thought. I also considered the possibility of instantaneous transmutation into a being of energy who could, perhaps, will himself to wherever that Riviera currently was, which was only mildly more silly than the idea of the bushes. I thought of a number of things, and I do believe I probably looked a little silly, standing there with my mouth hanging open, staring blankly.

Then there was Ray.

"Renfield?" Francesca asked, waiting expectantly, tapping her toe on the ground.

"Hey, Frannie, we have business," Ray said, coming up the walk.

"Oh, yeah? What kinda business?" she asked, jerking her chin up.

"None of _your_ business, sister-mine. C'mon, Ren," Ray said, giving a tug to my sleeve and mercifully breaking the near-sentry posture I'd been holding while trying to think of how to answer his sister.

Francesca rolled her eyes. "What d'you know, anyway? Hey, did you know he doesn't like it when people call him that?"

Ray waved her off, still pulling me to the car. As though I were not going entirely too willingly. But after we got into the car and had pulled away, he frowned a little, eyebrows drawn, and asked, "That true?"

"Mostly," I finally said, and I couldn't stop myself from nearly sinking into the passenger's seat as I took his hand. "You see, there are-- well, people often have a habit of--"

Ray frowned deeper, looking back forward, and I finally knew what to say again.

"I love it when you do. No one else."

He looked over sidelong, narrowing his eyes. Not suspicion, so much as curiosity. "Really?"

I often have a habit of being either too verbose or too quiet, but once in awhile, I am pleased when I manage to say what it is I want. "Your Ren."

And Ray's smile was enough to erase the day... for the most part.

You see, I was beginning to believe that Francesca Vecchio is _everywhere_. I know that I had checked for her as we roamed around; the grocery store, a few other places, keeping an eye out and waiting for her to show up in an attempt to woo me for reasons I cannot fathom. I don't look forward to tomorrow.

But now, I'm cooking dinner for us, and Ray is standing behind me, holding me, watching over my shoulder, and this is one place she most certainly isn't.

And I'm beginning to believe that Ray Vecchio is _everything_.


End file.
